In Too Deep
by Friendly Voices
Summary: "I'll take care of it." Red hummed. "You can't be compromised, I can't stress enough how crucial it is to get this done, Lizzie, and we can't have him snooping around. This lawyer, does he have a name? There are lots of them in Boston, but I doubt that his name is Mr. Ass." Boston Legal meets The Blacklist, Alan Shore meets Lizzie Keen. Totally AU.
1. Undercover

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Undercover**

"Hello sweetheart. How is your day?"

"Hi Red." Liz tiredly flopped down on her bed and turned the TV down. Her apartment was small but homey, and she actually liked it a great deal. It reminded her of her time at university – she had lived in similarly cramped conditions, sharing with two other people. Here she was thankfully alone. "Don't even ask."

"Is something wrong, Lizzie?" Red sounded worried and she sighed and shook her head. He was always worried.

"Not really, everything is going according to our plan, but there's this guy who keeps coming back, asking questions. He could blow my fake cover and then they would kick me out of the department, blowing my real cover. It's… stressful."

"Who is the man and what does he want, Lizzie? Is it possible that he is one of theirs?" Red's voice sounded grave – agitated even. A lot depended on her mission here, and they could not take any chances.

"I'm certain that he is not. You remember the brawl I told you about?"

"The one in which that pesky little politician got his face smashed? Yes, it made my day."

"Well, it's his lawyer and he wants me to testify. He's really persistent, not to mention that he is an annoying ass."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line and Liz started to fall asleep; she was tired and she slept only during the mornings. She worked all night as a bartender and spent her afternoons at a gym keeping in shape or exploring the city. This was the longest, most exhausting and boring undercover job she had ever had to go through. Why was it always Ressler who got the good ones full of shooting and fistfights?

"I'll take care of it." Red hummed. "You can't be compromised, I can't stress enough how crucial it is to get this done, Lizzie, and we can't have him snooping around. This lawyer, does he have a name? There are lots of them in Boston, but I doubt that his name is Mr. Ass."

"You won't maim him or destroy his career, right?" She closed her eyes, the face of that infuriating man appearing in her mind. He oozed smug – but she supposed that he had a good reason for it. He was well dressed, sleek, and charismatic and dear God, he liked to listen to himself. He actually reminded her of a certain international criminal she knew.

"Of course not, unless that's what you want…?"

"He's just doing what he's paid for." The world was much more interesting with these kinds of people around; that was the reason why she was unwilling to tell Red his name.

"I'm not saying otherwise. I will ask Denny – your remember Uncle Denny, don't you? – to handle it."

"Oh, no! No, no, no, not Denny Crane, no! That man scars people for life!" She was fond of her honorable uncle, he was brilliant, but he was too much to handle for people who were sane or uninvolved in the world of international crime.

"Or I suppose that I can fly to Boston myself…"

Liz groaned and closed her eyes. The last thing they needed was Raymond Reddington in Boston. "Ok, Dad, don't come to Boston, please. His name is Alan Shore. Are you happy, now?"

"Happy? Of course I'm not happy, Lizzie. I've just offered to visit you and you rather than saying 'Yes, Daddy, I'd love to see you' gave me a name of an innocent man who was just doing his job. What do you know? I can have him tortured for annoying you."

"Not funny, Red." Liz gave a long yawn and nestled down in the pile of blankets. The idea of a chat between her father and that lawyer was amusing, though. Red would either like him or shoot him, but the latter was more probable – two roosters and all that.

"On the contrary, I find that extremely amusing. Are you falling asleep on me, Lizzie? I'm hurt. I must have done some horrible mistake in your upbringing if this is how you repay me."

"Sam brought me up." She yawned again and smiled softly when her father scoffed on the other end. She knew that he was smiling, though. "I just don't want you to take unnecessary risks. We are not supposed to be in touch at all, you know?"

"I know, sweetheart, and I know that this situation is mostly my own fault. I shouldn't have put you in that position. I should have… Yes, Dembe?"

She heard a muffled conversation through the speaker and then Red said, "I need to go. Sweet dreams, Lizzie. I miss you."

"I miss you too, Daddy." Liz sighed and tightly closed her eyes when the call ended. Being the only living relative of the Concierge of Crime came with a price; they were apart most of her childhood and almost all of her adulthood. When they had started to work together for the FBI, they had had to keep their distance to protect their little secret and Liz missed him fiercely through all those years.

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Ok, this is the longest A/N I've ever written. I'm going to tell you a story. I was visiting my mother this weekend and she likes to have the TV on in the background while we talk. Yesterday, she had on this TV show centering on a bunch of lawyers and I wasn't paying much attention to it, but one of them seemed really familiar – so I watched it for a few minutes and then the character said something sarcastic and got punched. In that moment I started laughing.

Why? You can guess why. The TV show was The Practice and the character was Alan Shore. When I got home, I googled it and watched a few clips on youtube (Boston Legal, too), and I guess that that's it, that's how this little fanfiction initially came to be. I just wanted to have Alan Shore and Red Reddington in the same story.

The biggest problem was who would get Lizzie (since I don't really know any other characters from Boston Legal, I don't feel comfortable writing one of the girls there) and I eventually decided to go for Alan/Liz. Hopefully you will enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing the first chapter…

Comments, ideas? Should I dodge flying stones and go back to writing Red/Lizzie? Or are you with me?


	2. Mr Ass

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Mr. Ass**

"Miss Young! Hello, do you have a minute?"

It took her a fraction of a second to respond. She stopped and slowly turned to him, her face annoyed. "Oh, it's _you_. What do you want this time?"

"I just saw you here and I thought that I would say hello, ask how you're doing, that kind of thing…"

"Skip the pleasantries, Mr. Shore, I'll be late for work. What do you want from me?"

"A great deal of… things."Alan Shore assured her in a deep voice but she didn't even flinch. Most people were embarrassed, shocked, repulsed or simply put out by his behavior, but she met everything he said or done head on without these false morals. He admired her. She was attractive, with beautiful eyes and full, kissable lips… but she was as marvelous as she was infuriating. "I'll settle for a truthful answer for now. Were you or were you not present at the time of the incident, Miss Young?"

"I'm not sure what do you think I will say to you this time. I've already told you – twice – that no, I was not there. You think I'm lying, but I'm not. And If I was, you won't be able to tell the difference anyway, Mr. Shore." She watched him, her eyes blazing. "So why don't you tell me why you keep stalking me?"

He straightened his shoulders and raked his eyes over her figure while she held still. There was something defiant about her posture, as if she was inviting him to look, to see exactly what he could _not_ touch. He had made his intentions blatantly clear, had voiced them the very first time he had seen her actually, and she had teased him ever since with her defiance, enjoying saying no to his advances over and over again. He disliked that immensely, but he was unable to stop himself from trying – over and over again.

Her body language suggested interest, yet her responses were adamantly negative. How baffling! There was something off about dear Miss Young, and he wanted to uncover all of her secrets, all of them.

"Well, I am not stalking you, I just happen to occupy the same places at the same time as you…"

"Really? I didn't see you anywhere near the gym before." Now it was her who pointedly eyed him up and Alan had just barely managed not to blush. He was a lawyer for heaven's sake, and a good one at that – he did not blush, and he didn't take attacks at his appearance lightly. He looked good… no, he looked _great_ – he knew that – and a few extra pounds could not change that.

Leaning closer, he whispered, "I thought you could give me a little workout, Miss Young, while we settle our differences… we certainly could find common ground… or any other horizontal surface for that matter. I'm not even opposed to a vertical surface, you pick."

Young's eyebrows rose and she leaned closer to him, too.

"It's like we speak different languages. I hope you understand when someone says… I don't know – goodbye? Well, let's try it. Goodbye, Mr. Shore." She turned abruptly, walking down the street and away from him.

"Is that a proposition? I would love to get acquainted with your tongue, Miss Young!" Alan called after her and when her steps faltered, he grinned and caught up with her. "Or any body part of yours."

Miss Young stopped and took a deep breath before she met his gaze. Her eyes were so, so blue. It was unusual; Alan barely noticed that when he dealt with people. With her, he had noticed, though. He kept noticing a large number of exciting things about her – he was particularly curious about that burn mark on her wrist and that little patch of pale skin indicating the sudden absence of a ring on her left ring finger. According to his files, Miss Young had never been married or engaged.

"Would you like that, Miss Young?" His smile smugly widened. He knew that she was attracted to him!

She smiled politely and shrugged her shoulders, for a second looking away. Then she hit him. It was not a slap – he _liked_ a good slap now and then – it was a regular teeth-rattling punch. He took a step back, doubling over. Maybe she wasn't interested after all.

Young bent towards him, her hand gently resting on his back while he spitted blood. At first, he thought that she was going to hit him again, but she caressed his shoulder, her fingers slightly grazing the nape of his neck.

"Before you ask, no, it wasn't sexual. Would you like a spanking like this, Mr. Shore? No? I thought so. Leave me alone. I wasn't there that night, I didn't see anything. Are we clear?"

She smiled curtly at him and Alan glared at her as she marched away. He fished out a hanky and watched her disappear with narrowed eyes. That was an exemplary punch of a trained professional. He had had his fair share of those, so he knew the difference.

Miss Young wasn't just a bartender in a shady nightclub, and he would be damned if 'Young' was her real name. It always took her a moment to respond. He would need to go over her records again and more carefully.

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Thank you for your comments, I'm happy that you are willing to give it a try :) Uuuh, so, how is Alan doing so far? :D


	3. Denny's Warning

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Denny's Warning**

His jaw was purple, tender to touch and slightly swollen when he came to work the next morning. He ignored Brad and his idiotic remarks and questions completely and shut himself in his office with the intention of finding every little thing about Miss Nancy Young. She didn't look like someone who could be named like that, so the only logical conclusion was that she was _not_ Nancy Young.

"Alan! Do you have a minute? Denny Crane!" The voice of his friend boomed from the doorway and he glanced up from his papers. Alan had a trial in two hours and he would like to go over Young's files before that.

"I do not!"

"Excellent, it won't take long." Denny walked in, carefully closing the door, which was unusual. Not that they never had a conversation behind closed door, but the way he did it was suspicious; he closed them so gently, as if not to draw attention to them. They liked to be the center of all attention in the firm.

"Alright, now you piqued my interest."

Denny was silent for a minute, gazing at the floor. Then he took a deep breath and looked at Alan with a very serious expression on his face. Today, he wore a subdued gray tie and it reflected his somber mood perfectly.

"You are my very good friend, Alan." He said slowly. "I think you are my best friend, if you have to know, but… I have another good, very, very, very good friend, and his family – it's like my family."

"What's this about, Denny?" Alan was getting apprehensive; however, he did not expect Denny's next words.

"It's about Michael's case. You need to settle it without involving Nancy Young. If you have to, drop it completely."

"You can't be serious!" Was the whole universe plotting against him, now? Who the hell was Nancy Young?

"I never get more serious than this, soldier. Leave it be."

"Michael is a client of this firm for more than four years. That's what Paul would say. He would add that he brings in a lot of money. You, I, Paul… We need that money, don't we? What about that boat you want to buy, Denny? Or was it a lodge? And me? I am thinking about a summerhouse."

Denny sat patiently through his rant, looking off into space, and then he shrugged his shoulders. "That's a good idea, Alan! I would go for it myself, but then again, I don't like to leave my city too often. Anyway, Michael's problem has to be solved without that girl, and well, you can buy a summerhouse next year. There's always a next time. Actually, why don't you buy a decent home first? It never ceased to confuse me that you don't have one…"

Alan snorted and shook his head, rising from his seat and retrieving another folder. He was considering hiring a PI – he would love to have some pictures of the woman taken at her gym. If he was honest, it was more about _her_ than Michael's case – that whiny little snot had needed a sound thrashing.

"Forget the houses. What would Shirley say about all of this?"

"Oh, I'm glad you asked." Denny rose and tried to take the folder from him. Alan tightened his grip and they briefly wrestled for it. Denny won and put the papers under his arm protectively. "Paul, Shirley and I share the same opinion; Michael doesn't have any witnesses. It's unfortunate, a tragedy, really."

"I'm… shocked. You and Paul actually agree on something?" He scoffed and eyed the file longingly. "The hell must be freezing over!"

"There's always the first time for everything, as there is always the last time for everything." Denny smiled to himself but then he looked troubled again. "That's the law of nature, soldier. We will have you fired if you do not comply in this, Alan."

For a moment, the silence between the two friends stretched and then the younger man lifted his chin defiantly. The situation was just too delicious for him to let it go. His old friend Eleanor had said a few times that Alan had self-destructive tendencies. Perhaps she had been right.

"You know me." Alan nodded, working his jaw painfully. "So, you certainly know that now, when _both_ you and Paul don't want me to convince Miss Young to testify, that's exactly what I will do. I won't let this rest."

He moved to the door but Denny blocked him with a deep frown. "Leave the girl alone."

"Why? Do you know her somehow? I mean, have you even seen her? If you have, you must understand that… I can't. She's so much fun…"

He chuckled and pointed at his bruised face. "See? She likes it rough and I am certain that we could explore it in depth…"

Denny grabbed him by the lapels, the folder falling to the floor, the papers flying in all directions. His usually kind eyes were steely as he yanked him down and growled into his face, "Alan, you will leave the girl alone. Do I make myself clear? Do you know who I am? Denny Crane, Alan, Denny Crane!"

He pushed him off and exited the office, slamming – actually slamming – the door behind him. Alan stood there in the middle of the mess, massaging his jaw and thinking furiously. Never before had Denny reacted in such a way when Alan had said an inappropriate remark. Hell, Denny himself was uttering jokes and propositions like that most of the time.

There was something very special about Miss Young and Denny's opening talk about family finally clicked into place. How _exactly_ did Denny know her?

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Next time Lizzie's perspective again. I'm sorry that most of you don't like Red as her father, but I SO want to write the "getting to know the in-laws" part with Red as the concerned father and Alan as the 'ideal' son-in-law... muheheh. I feel evil. Really, really evil.


	4. Something Else

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Something Else**

It looked like a quiet Tuesday night. Liz was bored out of her mind as usual while she was rearranging the bottles on the shelves. She desperately wished for a little excitement; another fight, a fire alarm going off, a call from her father or at least someone interesting to talk to. Really, anything would be good.

"How are we tonight, Miss Young?"

Anything but _that_.

Turning towards the voice, she groaned when she saw the smug grin on the face of its owner. Alan Shore was sitting there with hooded eyes and elbows propped against the bar as if he had been there for some time already. His tie was pulled loose, the first button of his shirt undone and his hair mussed up.

"Mr. Shore. What are you doing here?"

"Why, I came for a drink. You don't mind my presence here, do you?" He waved his hand in the air and smiled challengingly. "But not to worry, I received the warning, so to spare Denny any more fits, let me say that I am not here to try to question you about the fight again. I dropped the case."

Liz shrugged, her mind furiously working. Did he know Denny? Not many people referred to the living legend by his given name. Perhaps they were friends – in that case, she needed to be careful. "I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Shore. So, what can I get you?"

He nodded to the bottle of whisky Liz was currently holding and grinned, "That will do, for now. You didn't question me on the Denny matter, Miss Young. Do you know to whom I am referring?"

Liz poured him his drink and huffed. "I'm not really interested in that, but by all means, do tell me who this Denny is."

"He is a friend, who seemed to be very interested in _you_." He caught her wrist and Liz shivered when he accidentally touched her scar. She wrenched herself free and took a step back, glaring at him.

"Don't touch me like that ever again, or God help me, I will break your arm."

"Hmm, and this was sexual by any chance?" He just smiled and downed the whisky, signaling that he would like more. "Back to Denny Crane, though. Do you know him? He certainly knows you, Miss Young."

"Unfortunately, I don't." Liz frowned and poured him another. She didn't like the way he was looking at her – the bastard had been undressing her in his mind since the moment he had laid his eyes on her, but this time it felt different. This time, he was not interested merely in her body, he was intrigued by _her_. That was bad.

"That's strange." He remarked and licked his lips, ostentatiously watching hers.

"If you say so." Liz felt an urge to smack him – but even in the semidarkness of the bar she could see the discoloring of his jaw and she felt a little guilty about that. She never hit civilians, or at least never had until now.

"Would you like to know what is so strange about it?"

She gave him a look and turned away, desperately glancing around – but there was no one to save her from this conversation. Shore was the only one at the bar and Ann, the waitress, had the tables covered.

"Once I mentioned that I would like to get to know you…" his eyes travelled up and down her upper body, "… _better_ , Denny just flipped. He was protective of you, Miss Young. My dearest friend was protective of you – good God, we both know that he doesn't care about the women he sleeps with, don't we? And this man, _Denny Crane,_ cares for you. So why don't you stop lying to me. Is Young even your name, woman?"

His eyes were green, Liz noticed, and it was strange. She usually didn't notice these details about people she barely knew. His eyes were green and piercing and they watched her without blinking. He managed to look both forcefully demanding in his request – and suggestively naughty.

"Well." She put the bottle down carefully and leaned towards him, her heartbeat picking up speed. "I might know him. Did he warn you to stay away from me?"

"He did." Self-satisfied, he leaned even closer to her. "I don't pay much attention to these kinds of warnings, though, not when a beautiful woman I want is concerned."

"You should, Mr. Shore." Liz warned him softly. They were sharing the same breath now and she noticed that his cologne was pleasantly spicy, noticeable but mild at the same time.

"Please, I'm Alan. How can I call you?" He touched her forearm gently and withdrew immediately after making the fleetest contact with her skin. He rested his hand next to hers and smiled encouragingly.

Liz watched his fingers for a moment and then she raised her eyes to his face. The bruise was really ugly and this man who _wanted_ her… this man was disarming. Good thing that Lizzie was so fucking good at hand-to-hand.

"You can call me Miss Young, Mr. Shore." Grabbing the bottle, she stepped back and put it on the shelf.

He chuckled and leaned back in his stool, shaking his head. "You are so stubborn! Stubborn women make demanding, delightful lovers… I like that. May I be completely frank with you?"

"I doubt that I could stop you."

"True. Anyway, I want to bend you over this solid oak…" He patted the wood and his voice was so, _so_ deep that Liz shivered. "… and have my wicked way with you right here and right now. I can imagine all the glass shattering, your screams of ecstasy, those horrified and so _very_ jealous faces of the patrons…"

His expression was serious and slightly dreamy. Liz was not amused, even though she was more than a little flushed.

"However…" He took a deep breath and something in his face shifted. "That's not the only thing I want from you."

"What else do you want, then?"

"I don't know yet." He appeared lost for a second, but recovered quickly and smiled. "That's why I can't heed Denny's warning, not until I find out."

The fleeting glimpse of something in his eyes scared Lizzie. She was a married woman and he gave off an impression of a womanizer, so why the hell he appeared so sincere out of sudden, so interested in something he himself couldn't even name? Why was she even thinking about him in that context? She wasn't a fan of one-night-stands and to consider anything more was insane.

Liz truly didn't want to think about him in this regard. She didn't want Alan Shore close because there was a possibility, a slight chance that she might like what he had to offer; normal dating, movies and dinners and lunches, cuddling on the couch and lazy Sunday mornings. No fucking guns in every room of the house and fake passports stuck under the floors and in the walls.

Well, Liz gave up the idea of a normal life a long time ago.

"That's exactly why you have to listen to Denny, Mr. Shore. I'm not interested and do you want to know a secret? Your presence here is putting _me_ in danger." She patted her hip as if she had a gun stripped to her waist and looked around. Then she gave him a pointed look and hoped it registered. Guys like him didn't belong in her world. "Leave me alone, if not for your own sake, then at least for mine."

With that, Liz disappeared into the storeroom and when she came back, the lawyer was gone for what she hoped was good.

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Hmm, I can't help it; this story is probably going to be much longer than I anticipated... I just enyjoy writing this 'romance' parts too much to speed things up... :) Still with me?


	5. Planning the Next Move

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Planning the Next Move**

Raymond Reddington was not a man who took the happiness of his only remaining child lightly. He liked to call her every now and then, he liked to smooth her path here and now, and he showed up unannounced at her door regularly.

"Dad, please tell me that this is a hallucination." Liz said as she hugged him. He squeezed her in his arms and lifted her off the ground, humming in delight.

"Of course, this is a hallucination, Lizzie." Regretfully, he put her down and smiled broadly. "I've heard that your times at the nightclub are over. I believe that a celebration is in order, isn't it?"

"I suppose." She let him in and closed the door. "Where is Dembe? Don't tell me you left him outside to guard us, _again_. He is my favorite person, you know."

"Do you like him more than me?" Red pouted and shed his coat and jacket, looking around. "Very homey, Lizzie, if a bit cramped. Would you need me to buy you an apartment, sweetheart?"

"No, thanks." She laughed and moved towards the little bar she had. "Would you like something to drink?"

She poured him a glass of scotch and they sat down on her tiny couch in the tiny living room and chatted for more than an hour. Red was curious about the arrest the Boston police had made thanks to her undercover work, and Liz obliged and told him every little detail of the raid. Frankly, she was just happy that the three months of hell were over.

"I'm happy for you, too. That name didn't suit you at all." Red said and smiled at her. She was still touched every time he smiled at her like that – like she was the only thing that mattered to him. Not the money, their revenge, but her.

"Now starts the more… difficult part, right?" Liz asked and Red pulled her closer, putting his arm around her. Liz had always been a cuddler – something her sociopathic husband did not really understand. It was a family trait she had inherited from her father but unlike him, she didn't broadcasted it that much; Red was a very tactile person and he used this as his unique way to manipulate people when he conducted business while Liz simply liked to cuddle.

"Yes, now that you have successfully established yourself as a part of the Boston police department, you only need to convince the Cabal that you and I are done, and that you would like nothing more than to become a member of their monstrous syndicate in order to get me. A piece of cake, sweetheart."

"Are we going to proceed as we've planned, Dad?" Liz bit her bottom lip and sigh. Their plan was risky – everything about their plan was extremely dangerous and they both hated it, Red much more than her. They didn't know who was trustworthy and who was not and only Cooper knew the truth. Donald and Samar thought that Liz had really quit the taskforce and left her husband. They thought that she and Red had really tried to kill each other.

God, her reputation was so fucked up; she was a successful profiler and an outstanding agent who had gone nuts and tried to kill her asset, who had been labeled unstable and unfit to work for the FBI and quietly dispatched to Boston to recover.

"How long do I have until they make contact?"

"A few months, I believe. They are well aware that you are a very able operative, Lizzie, you are my daughter after all, and I have no doubt that they would try to seize the opportunity and utilize your skills."

She shifted uncomfortably. It wasn't just a father's pride talking. Liz had certain unique abilities that made her extremely dangerous. She could lie taking the polygraph, and she could spot a lie immediately. She spoke several languages without any accent and her combat skills were exceptional. She could blend in, play any role, and do anything. Red had her trained from early childhood, prepared to fight for her life.

Lizzie's life had never been normal, though the façade covering all of their nasty secrets had been impenetrable. Sometimes, she hated it, sometimes she was eternally grateful for it – and sometimes she wished that someone other than her father would look behind the mask and see her, just _Lizzie_.

"So, I could… get a divorce in the meantime, perhaps?" She asked softly and looked out of the window. She wanted a normal divorce at least. The idea had been haunting her for more than a year, actually, and these last months away from Jacob had made her decision for her. She didn't miss him at all – she was relieved that she didn't have to love him anymore even though that she knew that Jacob clung to their marriage desperately.

Her father was silent for a long moment and Liz bit her lip. She remembered how displeased Red had been when he had found out about her bodyguard wanting to marry her. Jacob had had to work extremely hard to convince the Concierge of Crime of his trustworthiness and devotion to Liz, and Red still disliked him. She knew.

"You could do whatever you want, Lizzie." Red kissed her forehead and nodded. "I could handle it, depends on how Jacob would react, but perhaps you should go to Denny instead. You married your husband lawfully, so why not divorce him in the same way? Denny would be happy to see you."

"I was thinking about it myself. He already knows that I'm in Boston and it would be nice to catch up with him. He couldn't even make it to Sam's funeral." She shrugged her shoulders and tried not to think about the memory Denny's name brought up – unsuccessfully. A pair of piercing green eyes came to her mind almost immediately.

That attorney, Shore, was never far from her thoughts and the truth was that Liz had been disappointed somewhat when he had not shown again. He had been awfully straightforward in his intentions and Liz had been awfully cold in her rejection without any explanation whatsoever. Not that she owned him any explanation or anything. She just had been too brusque with him and after that punch… Well. Alan Shore had made her pulse quicken by a mere look. What did that say about her?

"I can't stay long, Lizzie. Give him my regards, please." Her father was talking again and she pushed the image of Mr. Shore away. She would not see Red for a long time.

"Sure, Dad. When are you leaving?" Liz leaned over him and stole his drink, taking a little sip, grinning from ear to ear.

"In a few hours… Oh, you! Get your own scotch!" Red chuckled and took his glass back. She snuggled up to him in remembrance of those very few times when they had had the opportunity to be this close to each other. She didn't know any adults who snuggled to their parents, but then again, nothing about their little family was normal. They remained silent for a moment and then she whispered, "I'm glad you came, Dad."

"Me too, Lizzie, me too."

* * *

Guys, stop cringing! It's only one story. We can deal with their F/D relationship in this one story, right? (hihi, it creeps me out, too, but I'm the author, so I'm brave and daring, facing my fears!) And anyway... I am an adult and I am VERY fond of cuddling. Objections? No? Goody! :D

We are going to see Red in the future again, I promise - but Alan won't meet him any time soon. Poor man still needs to convince Lizzie to go out with him at least, and it looks like the whole universe is against the very idea :D :D :D

Next time, Alan's perspective ;)

Oh, and I'm really, really happy that you are reading this little experiment :) Thanks :)


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